


Empire of Dust

by Misericordemika



Category: DCU, Green Lantern - All Media Types, Justice League: The Flashpoint Paradox, The Flash - All Media Types
Genre: M/M, Too many feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-05
Updated: 2016-02-05
Packaged: 2018-05-18 07:16:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,933
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5904535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misericordemika/pseuds/Misericordemika
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Flashpoint Paradox AU: Upon waking up in the altered timeline, Barry seeks out Hal instead of Bruce. A translation of 路时千's original work (with permission).</p>
            </blockquote>





	Empire of Dust

**Author's Note:**

  * A translation of [An Empire of Dirt / 尘埃之地](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/173764) by 路时千. 



> Translator's note: This fic destroyed me emotionally. *crawls away to heal in puddle of tears*

_"But here in this plane there is no fire to persuade me to believe in friendship. There is no freezing chamber here to persuade me of the existence of adventure. I waken out of my reverie. There is nothing here but a void. Nothing but extreme old age."_

_\- Flight to Arras, Antoine de Saint-Exupéry_

* * *

He should not have remembered what has not happened. It was a stray path, a crack in the dirt after depth of winter, a pair of identical silver coins, a dried page in a relic bible, a chance encounter with a stranger in the basement of a church. He'd seen many things, and remembered them at the worst of times; all consequences stem from a single decision. This is not just a philosophical proposition; he had studied physics in school, examining the theory of gravitational laws under the dim light of his single room, making amendments to the equation constants.

  
Then he receives his powers. In his eyes, the Schwarzschild radius is no longer insubstantial; he completes his equation - he has surpassed the insurmountable speed of light.

  
At the same time, Bartholomew Allen is constantly bound to the principles of morality. His human heart does not allow him to choose inaction in the face of darkness, and yet he can't save everyone. Even the world of the speed force is bound to the laws of Schwarzschild radius from which, as he had tested, not even the speed of light could escape.

  
Not all his journeys end well.

  
What does his story mean? Not even he knows. It is a pair of tongs that shifted the residual embers in a fireplace, the sparks vanishing as tricks of the light.

  
They met in a certain world. He had changed the history of that world, the lives of many people. He had created that world's Hal Jordan, and entangled with him. This may sound like a tragedy, yet none of that matters. The story only needs a narrator. Barry Allen is not the world's only speedster, and he knows this truth; in the infinity that is the space-time continuum, too many things happen from split-second decisions, and empires crumble to dust.

* * *

Barry starts, jarred awake by an earthquake. He stares at the ceiling, recounting every dent and nub by memory. A nagging agitation, like a metastatic tumour, plagues him.

He hasn't been back in this house for a long time, not since his mother died.

  
_Dammit._ He vaults from the bed, his wrist scraping against the bedside table. Flinching from the pain, he sees his favourite red clock from his childhood. The electronic hands steadily click, the cartoon eyes on the face quizzical.

  
Documents lie scattered, the lamp on his desk still on. He looks down at his wrinkled white shirt, doubting the authenticity of the situation. Perhaps another mental attack? An assault to cripple him internally by showing him some treasured fantasy or unattainable utopia? For Barry, an image of his idyllic life with his mother?

  
His mind is clear, a mistake on the part of whoever orchestrated this.

  
He walks to the kitchen and looks at the small white fridge. Yanking it open with a disgusted laugh, Barry wonders if it will also converge with his memory of it; he didn't expect it to be unplugged, however, and stares, lifting his head.

  
Someone places a hand on his back. He jumps and spins around, about to defend himself. His mouth falls open as he stumbles to the ground.

  
A pair of hands cradles his head and shoulders. "Oh dear, are you not fully awake yet? Everything has been moved to that grey fridge over there - you said you'd help me move this old guy when you've come home. Did you forget?"

  
Barry pants, ducking out of Nora's reach. He backs up a few steps and shifts to a crouching position. "Mom?... Yo are dea- why are you here?" He finds himself unable to poise the question of her premature death so many years ago.

  
This is affecting his judgement: not a good sign.

  
Nora gives him a quizzical glance. "Why shouldn't I be here? This is my house. You are my son. Where else would I be?" She shakes her head, pulling Barry to his feet. A measure of her youth remains in her frail-looking body.

  
Barry's mental barriers are crumbling - this is his mother. Truth be told, how long has it been since? She gave him life. Her presence, her wisdom, her words allowed him to claim victory over every obstacle and pain he encountered. It was she who turned him into a hero in the eyes of the people. She made him into a man full of hope; yet still he does not dare believe that this is really her.

  
She has been gone for so long.

  
"Hey... mom." He gingerly grabs Nora's arm before she could turn away. "May I... may I look at you? Just for a bit?"

  
Nora turns to face him, worry evident in her eyes. The hair at her temples shines grey in the light of dawn; her crow's feet crease as she blinks.

  
Barry embraces her, burying his face at her neck. The comforting smell of soap and clean laundry wafts into his nose. He remembers the last time he saw her; she wore her pink blouse and a pencil skirt, splendid with her high heels.

  
Then what happened? How did he lose her again? And why the hell is he thinking of this?

  
He had been pondering some pressing question, yet it has vanished like foam.

  
Nora touches his face, putting some distance between them to get a better look at him. Her expression is one of utmost concern, a parent fretting over their child. "Is something wrong, Barry? Are the cases too stressful? Maybe you need to rest more.”She puts a few strands of his blond hair away from his forehead. "I accepted the invite from your friends on your behalf. I told them this weekend you will be staying at Jordan's house in Coast City."

  
Barry's eyes widen. "Jordan - Hal Jordan? He is here too? I mean... has he been well?"

  
Nora laughs, poking Barry on his nose and shaking her head. "You know with what happened in his family... he hasn't contacted other people for a while - you told me this, remember? What's going on, Barry?"

  
Barry shakes his hand. He doesn't think Nora would believe any excuse he could present, but she wouldn't point that out either - call it a natural trust between mother and son, present even if they haven't seen each other for so many years.

  
_So many years?_ Why does he think that?

  
Memory tinkles like a child pulling a prank, tantalizing him into opening the door and then showing nothing.

  
He tells Nora that he will go to the party hosted by his army buddies. He wants to know who else might be involved in this strange situation - there is a Hal Jordan, which might make things simpler, though trouble often follows. It's like they have always said, where there's trouble, there's probably Hal.

* * *

Barry Allen is a veteran of Afghanistan. His experience is average compared to that of other young Americans. After graduation he served, and then honourably discharged. He obtained a stable job at the Central City police station. Most of his time was spent poring over microscopes and biological samples. Everything seems to be in place, but for an important missing piece -

  
Barry Allen is also the Flash, and a founder of the Justice League.

  
But now? There is no Justice League.

When he sifts through the newspapers, he sees that the Amazons have taken over London. Accompanying the article is a photo, and he can clearly see that the leader of the Amazons is Wonder Woman Diana. A waver of doubt seeps into him that perhaps, something is wrong with this world.

  
What is more damning is the fact that when he attempts to change into his suit, a movement that has become second nature to him - he can't find his uniform. And he has no super-speed, an unknown switch that has been shut off. That source of power is only in his imagination; no matter how hard he tries, he cannot access it or bring it into reality.

  
No matter what, he thinks. He can't be the only one with this kind of problem.

* * *

Each squad in the military has its own unique traditions: lighting a cigarette on the barrel of a gun, burying their feet in sand; all are in the name of good fun. Along these same lines of tradition, Barry is doused with whisky as soon as he steps through the door, the strong stench of alcohol permeating the delicate membranes in his nose. He chokes, tears streaming from his eyes as he hears rambunctious laughter resonating all around him.

  
"Hey Allen! Man, how's life in the police force? You look so different."

  
"Don't bother joking with him Butch, he never gets it. Hey bro, why are you just standing there?

  
Barry wipes his eyes, trying to focus on the few people lounging on the sofa. He doesn't recognize any of them, an indictment that he is not experiencing an illusion; after all, who would attack him mentally with people he is unfamiliar with? Terrorism only shows its value by destroying what he cares about the most.

  
"Where is Hal?" Barry asks. He doesn't want to forge any more extraneous relationships unless necessary.

  
The people exchange glances. One of them asks: "Hal? He's in the basement. When did you two get on first-name terms?"

  
Barry skirts around pieces of garbage as he heads towards the basement. Tin soldiers and model airplanes decorated the walls around him. He steps on a rubber chew toy - perhaps a dog's? The wooden stairs groan under his weight. He takes another turn before he sees light. A young man is bending over, stuffing piles of dirty laundry and linens into the washing machine. Upon hearing footsteps, he turns around. His face is familiar to Barry, but younger by ten years.

  
Barry opens his mouth, but stops, uncertain.

  
The man drops the pile in his arms and appraises him for a moment, then grins: "Ah, it's you! Barry Allen! It has been a while!" He rushes forward, enveloping Barry in a fearsome hug and presses a sloppy kiss to either cheek. "I heard you joined the police? How is that going? After all, you are the most brilliant one among all of us."

  
Barry stammers. "You don't remember me?" He asks tentatively.

  
Young Hal Jordan raises an eyebrow: "You are Barry Allen, aren't ya?" He ruffles Barry's hair. "Golden blond, blue-eyed, sharp-nosed, thin-lipped - who else would you be besides Barry Allen? Hey, did you want me to remind you that three members of our team are black, and then it's just Barry Allen and Hal Jordan? Still playing this game? At least grow some facial hair or something."

  
Barry falls silent as Hal continues: "But you do look quite different. Work has been stressful? I feel like you've aged quite a bit."

  
Barry takes a deep breath - he can't give up yet. After all, Hal is the only familiar one he knows, even though he has no memory of being Green Lantern or of their time in the Justice League together. He doesn't want to remind himself of this - perhaps it is not that he has arrived in a world without the Justice League, perhaps it is that his own world has never had superheroes to begin with: no superman, no Green Lantern, and Wonder Woman is mankind's greatest enemy along with Aquaman

  
He is entangled in another Grandfather Paradox - his memories feel as if an omnipresent hand is continuously realigning them with his current timeline; a gardener that prunes any extraneous branches on a shrub and reconstituting him to fit into the boundaries of this world, to fix inconsistencies within the twisted timeline.

  
Hal nudges him, picks up the rubber chew toy and throws it to the side. The young man turns to look at him, hooking an arm around Barry's shoulders. "What's up? You look really worried. Did the three up there put you through the grinder again? Hey, cheer up. You'll get used to it. Everyone has weaknesses..."

  
"Hal, wait." Barry grabs him to stop him in his tracks. Hal pauses. "I want to talk to you - alone. There is something really important... _God_ , I need to explain - even my mom thought I was hallucinating and wanted me to go see a doctor -"

  
"Alright, alright." Hal places a hand on his arm, staring at him earnestly, trying to get him to relax. "I'll hear you out, and I won't judge, okay? Don't stress - nothing is worth being so worried over. If you don't want to stay here, we can go to the bar across the street? It's a bit fancy for my tastes, but since you've always been the scholarly type, I don't think you'll mind too much."

  
Barry releases the breath he has been holding. At least Hal's personality hasn't changed. He is still the ambitious guy who thinks everything is within his control - and always so ready to throw himself in front of the train for a friend. Barry wishes he were still a pilot - there really isn't anything else more suited for Hal than flying. Maybe he'll ask about that when they are talking.

* * *

The Blues Bar is not like what the name implies. The band launches into a rendition of Sonny Rollins' "the Bridge". A few black patrons whistle to the tune, the dance girls on the floor swaying off tempo. Hal drags Barry to the innermost sofa before heading to the counter to order two beers. He puts down the two pitchers a bit too roughly, ice popping out onto Barry's lap.

 

"Oops," he laughs, picking up the ice and watching it melt into a puddle of amber liquid.

 

Barry watches him play, taking a sip of the beer. He's silent as Hal rubs the water all over his hands.

  
"Don't you have any other expressions?" Hal flashes him a smile, showing teeth. "No wonder those other three bastards like to call you a stick in the mud."

  
"So I've been called that many times," Barry replies, putting the pitcher back onto the table.

  
Hal didn't touch his. Leaning back, he waves a hand lightly. "How's Nora?"

  
Barry nods. "She's good. Still likes flowers -if you ever come visit, our front yard is full of tulips."

  
"Nice," Hal grins. He shakes his hand, and pulls his legs up, using the edge of the table as a prop. "So, what is it that you wanted to talk about?"

  
Barry inhales, clenching his hands on his knees. He stiffens his back, no longer reclined against the couch. Hal gives him a quizzical glance, removing his feet from the table. He raises an eyebrow, waiting.

  
"Hal..." Barry clears his throat. "This may sound crazy: _very crazy_. I myself can't really remember all the details... first of all... I need to know - do you really know who I am?"

  
Hal frowns. "You are Barry Allen. This game isn't fun anymore Barry."

  
Barry sighs. "You are right, Hal. I am Barry Allen - I am also the Flash. Or I was the Flash."

  
Hal bursts out laughing. He presses the back of his hand against his mouth, trying to stifle it. "Really? Did you want to show me your goods? Or are you just a closet pervert and it really depends on the audience?"

  
" _God_." Barry turns crimson, the redness spreading all the way to the roots of his ears. It takes him a moment to realize what Hal meant. "That isn't what I --the Flash, do you get it? Like someone who runs very fast - like lightning, in a flash. I could instantly run from the North Pole to the south - or I used to be able to."

  
Hal is still laughing, pretending to understand as he nods.

  
Barry feels defeated. Hal doesn't get it - his world has no superheroes; the people has no imagination. But having started, he must finish. "I formed the Justice League with a lot of other heroes - have you heard of Superman?"

  
Shaking his head, Hal makes a face.

  
"Batman?"

  
Hal stares at Barry, a strange expression marring his features. "Okay _now_ I believe that maybe you should go see a doctor," he mumbles. "Bro, of course I've heard of him - everyone has. The number one lunatic in Gotham who chases after those just as crazy as he is.... hey, do you need another round? You are sweating." He leans in close, patting Barry's face.

  
This jolts him out of his reverie. "Ah, sorry." A terrifying dizziness threatens to swamp him. Subconsciously he tries standing, and then collapses onto the ground, knocking over the table. "Sorry."

  
Hal grabs him from behind, dragging him to his feet and stopping the tirade of apologies. "Hey bro, I really think you should go see a doctor. You are soaked, your face is ashen."

  
Barry grabs his collar, dragging him close. "I am not ill - this is realignment, totally normal." He pants, eyes erratic. "My protective mechanism is trying to prevent its alteration of my memories. _God,_ how should I explain this to you? I am not hallucinating. Hal, this world.... this world is _wrong_. You aren't an ordinary person... you are a hero. Me and you - we were the Justice League - we were the best partners. We have friends - Superman, Batman, Martian Manhunter, Wonder Woman and Aquaman - I saw the news. They are attacking human cities right? This - this is wrong. They aren't our enemies... they shouldn't..."

  
Hal presses on his shouders, putting a finger to his lips.

  
The surroundings fall silent as people stared. The young bartenders duck behind their counters. A bearded man prowls forward like a predator, a gun obviously holstered on his belt.

  
Barry writhed as his emotions fly out of control, as fragments of memories swamp him; images from Nora's funeral replay dozens of times; the unbearable pain of being struck by lightning and then doused with chemicals burning across every inch of his skin, as if once again he is forced to relive that moment. Whimpering, he scrunches up into a ball, flailing for an anchor.

  
A hand reaches for him. He grabs onto its wrist, feeling the strong pulse syncing with his own erratic heartbeat, stabilizing it. He hears Hal's voice, a gentle lighthouse in the sea of torment.

  
"He means no harm, big guy. He's just drunk, and a bit dizzy. Put away your gun - do you want to alert the police? I know what you are up to - bargaining with leads? Definitely a stupid idea - contacts are unreliable - you think you can buy what others cannot? Slade, you all heard of him right? That bastard is just an assassin for hire - when can he be relied on for anything? He's just for himself. You should know better - let us leave."

  
Barry wants to say something upon hearing Slade's name, but his jaws clench of their own accord. He shivers, unable to utter a single sound. Hal gives him a few comforting pats before dragging him out of the bar. At first Barry could support some of himself, but once he enters the car he collapses, boneless.

  
Hal drives the car out of the trench by the road, stops, and buckles him in. He slams on the gas pedal and they swerve onto the road. Barry struggles to straighten himself. He glances at Hal, his mind feeling slightly clearer.

  
"I'm not finished," he says. "You are..."

  
"Enough," Hal says. "I overestimated myself. You know, I thought you were gonna tell me about something like... getting a divorce... or coming out. Instead, this kind of stuff... I don't want to say whether you are hallucinating or anything, so sorry, I don't want to know anymore. You should let it rot."

  
Barry shakes his head. His teeth still chattered, unable to elucidate. "No, you must know this. You are -"

  
"I don't want to fuckin' hear it, Allen. Shut the hell-"

  
"-You are Green Lantern, Hal. You... you are the Green Lantern."

  
Hal slams on the brakes and spins the wheel, coming to an abrupt stop at the corner of the street.

  
"What the hell are you saying, you bastard? How in the world did you - _fuck._ What have you been up to since leaving service? Neurotic, unintelligible ... DId you forget all of Paris' training? The first thing is to never give up on yourself! What are you up to - is it heroin or ecstasy?"

  
"I am not on drugs, Hal! Not addicted to anything." Barry finally regains control of his mind and tongue. He quivers, and Hal helps him straighten the seat. "I am telling the truth. Everything that happened is real - and that is the world I am familiar with - the correct timeline. Nothing like this here that has been altered... I am the Flash, you are Green Lantern. Wonder Woman and Aquaman are our friends - and they have always respected the human world. They communicate with our governments - they aren't evil."

  
Hal sighs. His gaze softens, lighting up the youthfulness of his face. He rubs his ears. "I don't want to take you for one of those despicable spies, Barry. Listen, I don't know anything about what you are saying but - Green Lantern, I know him. Nobody else does, but I do. I dug his ship out of the desert. That red-skinned bastard won't let me report this to the military, so it was left hanging. But yes, there is a person like that, and I know him.

  
Barry is beginning to realize that the history of this world has been tailored to each person. "So you are saying that you met Abin Sur - he didn't die, and so the ring didn't go to you , and so you didn't succeed him as the Green Lantern?"

  
"How did you know his name - only I knew."

  
"Because I'm neither joking nor lying, and I am not a drug addict nor am I mentally-ill. Hal, I am speaking the truth - every single word. I only beg you to believe me, to help me return this world to the correct timeline."

  
"Do you realize what you are asking of me?" Hal sneers. "I am almost thirty - I went through hell. I have yet to enjoy my life, and now you are telling me you want to start everything over? Then what was the point of everything we worked hard towards until now? And how are you supposed to change it anyway?"

  
"My powers, Hal. My super-speed - with it I could do a lot of things - I can change time. Have you ever heard of the Theory of Relativity?"

  
"Don't talk to be about crap like that."

  
"Okay, well to put it simply, I can run to the past, or the future. And once I enter the time-stream, everything along that timeline will change. It's like if I suddenly ran around a corner and crashed into someone, leading to a traffic accident. Or if we pictured it bigger - say to change someone's fate - to warn someone before he dies in an accident. He won't die, and it won't affect those around him - his wife and children, for example, won't eventually converge with another single parent family due to hardships. And so on. This is the butterfly effect - have you ever seen that movie?"

  
Hal examines Barry's eyes, his gaze focused yet distant as he thinks things over. Then he shakes his head, the brown hair splayed over his forehead flipped to the opposite side.

  
"So let me assume that you know me from before" Hal says, scratching his head. "Tell me, in your " _correct timeline_ ", is my father alive?"

  
Barry falters, unprepared for the question. He thinks of how in that timeline, Nora did not survive to this reverent old age. "No Hal... your father died - an accident. You told me this before."

  
Hal cries out in anguish. Barry reaches over and grabs his wrist before he could slam it against the wheel. "I am sorry, this didn't change."

  
"You don't have a fuckin' reason to apologize for this," Hal answers. He relaxes, patting Barry on the arm. "It's not your fault. No matter what happened in this world - whether it has anything to do with you - he died in the explosion. Nothing changed."

  
Silent, Barry huddles back into his seat. The Coast City rain drizzles without warning, a ghost on the windshield. Hal turns on the wipers, the streaking arcs reflecting in his eyes. He reaches out and adjusts Barry's seat again.

  
Barry laughs, finally leaning back comfortably. "You are quite observant."

  
Rolling his eyes, Hal says: "So what happened next?" He grabs a bone-shaped pillow from the backseat and tosses it to Barry. "Are you telling me that the Hal Jordan you know is a bastard who doesn't bother adjusting his friend's seat when he is clearly wiggling in discomfort?"

  
"No, he doesn't drive." Barry stifles his laughter as he shakes his head. He points at Hal's collared shirt. "He wouldn't dress so astutely. He's very different from you."

  
Interest sparks in Hal's eyes. He looks like a child waiting for a bedtime story, excitedly listening to what happens next. Barry makes a mental note, thinking his attentiveness is kind of cute.

  
"He is a test pilot for Ferris Aircraft - I am assuming you are too? Good. He is a guy with quite the story. I can never communicate with him normally. He always does things that goes against reason and common sense, yet he's always lucky enough for things to turn out the way he wanted; what was it he always said - perseverance means success? It's starting to affect me as well. His experiences are identical to yours but for one... that spaceship he encountered - Abin Sur was already dead, and passed the ring to you. You became the Green Lantern of Sector 2814."

  
Hal frowns as Barry switched pronouns, but said nothing.

  
"Of course, gradually other human Green Lanterns were chosen, and they are all connected to you. Guy, John, Kyle .... but you are called the greatest Green Lantern in all of the Green Lantern Corps."

  
Hal puts up his hands behind his neck and looks up at the sky. The rain-cloud has passed, and large specks of blue peeked from between the grey. Barry copies him, sliding down in his seat to look outside. A sparrow flies across the road.

  
"The Greatest Green Lantern?" Hal repeats, mumbling. He grins. "Wow, that sounds awesome."

  
"Yeah." Barry runs out of things to say. Maybe he's too careless? To him, Hal's current state is an altered timeline, but to Hal himself, and to the rest of the people in this world, this is their life. How could he so easily disregard the entirety of their existence? So many people has been wrongfully born onto this world but even more had died. He should have been like Marco Polo, who traversed countless cities yet interfered with none. And at dusk, in a garden, he would be telling his tale to a single audience while an invisible force drives them to oblivion.

  
But he is in a twisted timeline - one where change heaps upon change. He could not wipe the impact he has caused - his residual memories disrupting the present. Hal shouldn't know this - he shouldn't be told the truth of not belonging here. He shouldn't have to imagine himself as a non-existent "Green Lantern"...

  
_This is dangerous, Barry. Very dangerous_ , he tells himself. _You can't give up. You can't compromise._ This world is not peaceful. The Amazons have conquered London. The entirety of Europe has sunk into the ocean. Millions of people around the world are experiencing the devastating horrors of war. The Atlanteans are coming, and this is only the beginning. _Since you remember what the world should have been, and are sure of it, you have the responsibility to change it back_

  
_\- because it might have been you who caused it in the first place._

  
Hal punches him, waking him from his reverie. "Hey, what's wrong with you anyway? If you faint like that again I'll really need to get you to a hospital - there is one right around the corner."

  
Fear grips Barry's voice. He coughs, struggling to recover it: "No, Hal. Not the hospital. Could you take me to Gotham?”

  
"Gotham?" Hal stares, stunned. "You serious? Bro, are you really thinking you are part of that... Justice League or something? My God, you are really sick."

  
Barry suppresses a laugh at the remark. "You believe me anyway, don't you? Just take me there - I don't think I have a car here. I'll treat you to dinner after."

  
Hal looks resigned, a man about to take a bullet for his friend. "Whatever, Barry. You are on my turf - I'll take care of you." He slams on the gas and swerves onto the outer lane.

  
Barry jumps, pressing himself tightly against the seat. "You are going to lose your license at this rate."

  
"No worries, Barry." Hal turns to look at him, a hint of craziness creeping into his smile. "I don't have one."

* * *

Tracking is a penace. Batman glides amongst the shadows between buildings, apprasing the kalediscope light show flashed by the casinos. Whether they are brilliant or not, complicated or simple, nothing could stir his heart. This penance is what created Batman.

  
And no one knows whom he actually is.

  
Thomas Wayne senses something is off the moment he steps into the batcave. He has seen the track marks in the mud; the back wheels of the vehicle more narrow than the front - a customized race car. He follows the marks, locating a four-wheel drive Japanese car that has been painted green. No one is inside. He lightens his footsteps and walks around the car.

Two people. The driver has on millitary boots. His passenger is wearing wide-toed leather shoes.

  
Two people has trespassed onto his turf. They did not pause, instead heading straight for his cave. The latter footprints are shallower - they had ran, the one with the military boots chasing after the other.

  
A criminal and his accomplice.

  
Thomas opens his mouth in a savage grin, and wraps himself tighter in his cape. The red lens in his cowl made him look like some demon summoned from voodoo.

  
Batman has plenty of tricks against these overly curious idiots - they are already at the edge of the cliff; all they need is a push.

* * *

"Barry, I really don't think charging in like this is a good idea." Hal huffs his hands to warm them. The draft in the cave cuts right through his shirt, and he feels goosebumps.

  
Barry takes a few more steps in. The mess of bandages, documents, and clothing tells him that there is no Alfred Pennyworth and his meticulous caretaking. Why is that? What has transpired for Batman to be left without a butler?

  
A grunt interrupts his train of thought. He turns around and sees Hal collapsed on the ground.

  
He doesn't even have the chance to take one step before feeling the hair on his back prickle. A gloved hand slits his shoulders, and then flips him onto the wooden shelves. He feels splinters dig into the skin of his neck and ears, the pain making him yelp.

  
A shadow looms over him, the pointy bat ears designed to inspire fear instead made Barry almost weep with relief. He grabs him by the gloves, ignoring the blades slitting open his palms.

  
"God, Bruce - I am so happy to see you."

  
Batman grabs him by the neck and flings him against the stone wall, his sharp gloves leaving bloody punctures in Barry's shoulders.

  
"I am ... I'm Barry Allen. Do you remember me?" He groans from the pain.

  
"Shut up, you son of a bitch." Batman uses his other hand and slowly stabs Barry in the chest, a different torture. "Do you want to see a demon? I can dig your heart out right now. How's that? Fun?"

  
Barry wants to struggle, but he cannot possibly fight against a fully armoured batman. All his memories of the Justice League attacks him then, a tidal wave of emotions that choks off air. He stops breathing, his limbs spasms.

  
Batman releases him with a growl of pain.

  
Barry collapses on the ground, his entire body resonating with a burning agony.

  
"And who are you?"

  
"Me? Who the fuck cares? If you want to pick a fight then don't sneak up on someone from behind. Also, get away from him."

  
Hal's voice penetrates through the onslaught of memories. Barry realizes that Hal is confronting Batman. No. They are all connected to one another. They must work together and not against - this won't do anyone any good.

  
"Hal, stop..." Barry manages with difficulty. He struggles to prop himself up from the ground, facing the two blurry figures. "Stop!! Bruce! You are not enemies!"

  
A swish of the cape, and once again Barry is yanked up from the ground by the neck. Batman's mask appears in his wavering vision. "Twice, you bastard. _Twice._ Why are you calling me Bruce?"

  
Hal rushes forward, landing a punch on Batman's face and knocking him back a few steps, forcing him to let go of Barry's collar.

  
"Hey, you are pretty old, aren't you? I don't think you are that scary.... Why are you still dressing up for Halloween anyway?" He wraps his arms around Barry, helping him up.

  
"Hal, wait." Barry tries to prevent Hal from making the situation worse. "I can explain, Bruce. This..."

  
This time Batman stays where he is. "Why are you calling me Bruce? Answer me, you bastard." He remains enveloped in the darkness, a dying light flickering behind him.

  
Barry stops, stunned. He sees Hal's arm around his shoulders. His gaze shifts, spotting the small picture frame on the table. The old photo has clouded over. An answer emerges. This Batman's face has an obvious stubble, quite different from his memory of Bruce. He gapes, trying not to tremble: "My God - you are Thomas Wayne. Bruce died that night... right?"

  
Batman pounces, sharp gloves outstretched. Hal turns and shields Barry with his shoulders.

  
A ripping sound, and blood splayed up Barry's face. Hal grunts, and kicks Batman on the ribs, forcing him back a distance. The combat skills he picked up in the military has come to use - Hal looks ecstatic, in fact.

  
"Are you...." Barry didn't get to finish his sentence before he is pushed away.

  
Hal takes the punch to his face and grabs Batman's fist, dropping to the ground and using the momentum to bring Batman down as well. Yet Batman still holds the advantage, avoiding Hal's attempt to lock him down and flips their positions, grinding Hal into the ground. Hal hooks his feet against Batman's waist and throws him off. He straightens.

  
"Again, old man?" he grins, ignoring the blood dyeing his entire back red.

  
Hal is still Hal. Barry has to admit that this Hal has the same stubbornness as the Green Lantern he is familiar with. Yet as always, he does things at the worst of times, like now.

  
"Thomas, stop... we aren't your enemy. I am Barry Allen. This is Hal Jordan. We need to talk to you."

  
"Correction," Hal interrupts, his tone flighty. " _He_ needs to talk to you. I am a victim too."

  
The atmosphere lightens. Barry feels the need to laugh despite his dizziness.

  
Batman pauses. "I don't care about that," his voice is hoarse. "I only want to know why you called me Bruce."

  
Barry rubs the swollen corner of his mouth. "This has to do with what I wanted to talk about, Dr. Wayne." He points to himself. "Like I said earlier, my name is Barry Allen. But I also have another identity, just like you. I am the Flash - I used to be."

  
"As in running really fast," Hal quips. Barry never knew Hal could be so annoying. "Not the pervert kind."

  
Batman sneers. "Another delusional freak," he comments, tone harsh. "One of these days you are going to strap yourself onto a chair, and blow yourself up to the sky with fireworks. Want me to put you in Arkham? Have to try harder than that."

  
Desperation mounts. "I need you to believe me, Dr. Wayne. This entire thing was a plot... we are in a world whose timeline has been twisted - it should not be like this."

  
"Yup, the butterfly effect."

  
Barry turns and glares at Hal, who motions to zip his lips while laughing.

  
Batman folds his arms and grunts. "What else do you want to say, kid? I hate science fiction - they are as wretched as this reality."

  
Despair swamps him. Barry has no way of proving that he had came from that "original world". No one will believe him. Everyone has their own place in this world - even if it's something that has been twisted in Barry's perspective. To these people, their experiences are what is real.

  
He glances at Hal, whose youthful face alight with banter. He has heard Barry's story, brought him here, and is still with him now.

  
He must do this.

  
"I know I can't convince you just like this, Dr. Wayne." Barry straightens himself, his wounds making him grimace. He knows he must present himself determinedly, for Batman does not condone weakness. "I ask of you to give me one chance to do this experiment. I got my powers from being struck with lighting in a chemical lab. I can duplicate that to get my powers back - to prove what I said is true."

  
"You are crazy."

  
Barry clenches his teeth. "No, I'm not."

  
"Forget it, Barry," Hal interrupts him. "This is impossible. It's enough that you've come this far. I can't just stand by and let you do this to yourself."

  
"Shut up, Hal, I know what I'm doing," Barry retorts, watching the anger creeping up Hal's face. "I must succeed. It is the only way to return things to the way they were."

  
Hal punches him. "I hate that, Barry," his voice is brusque and hoarse with fury. " _This_ is the way things are - there is no other. Even if I must return to the Air Force and fight with those disguting sea creatures, I am resigned to do that, do you understand? This is _my_ fuckin' life!"

  
Batman pulls Hal away. "In your imagined world, young man. My son... Bruce... is he alive?"

  
Barry inhales. Hal's one punch hurts more than every other wound on his body. "Yes, Dr. Wayne. In the original timeline, you died in that alley. Bruce became Batman - a really great Batman. We are good friends."

  
Thomas grunts, pointing a finger at Barry's chest. "Then I suppose there's no harm in humouring you." His voice is lighter than before. "I am very interested."

Hal glares at Barry. Impatience riddles his features, but he doesn't leave.

  
Barry smiles at him, grateful.

  
He sighs, waving a hand and giving in. "I am right here. You be careful."

  
Barry nods, feeling much less anxious than before.

* * *

The first attempt fails.

  
Gotham's rain pelts with mania, an image seared into Barry's mind. He can't feel anything. Everything is too bright. He struggles to get away from that terrible light. Pain burst from his body; he doesn't know if he is awake, or that he is screaming. The entire sensory world has distanced from him. He thinks he might be crying, but he can't find the tears.

  
Someone is touching him, perhaps preventing him from moving. He wants to grab that hand, and yet he can't control his limbs. It's as if his skeleton had turned to dust, and that anything that came into contact with him became stiff and hard.

  
"Stay awake, Barry! Do you have a big enough cart, old man? Help me carry him down. We need to take him to the hospital. Where is the nearest one?"

  
"I won't go with you. There is one right at the exit of the street, about thirty kilometres. If you are fast enough you can get him into surgery in time."

  
He wants to refuse this proposition. The light lacerates into his eyes - or he might have lost that part of him. "No, no hospitals... _Hal_!!" He screams. The hand touches him again. "Let me try one more time - I know why this time it didn't work - I need to increase the capacity... believe me! Let me try again!"

  
"Shut the fuck up, you crazy bastard." Hal's voice comes from above his head. It's filled with dread. "I won't let that thing electrocute you again. Do you know how bad you look? Your entire body - "

  
Barry finally seeks that hand, and grabs it, imploring it. "Even if I go to the hospital there's nothing that could be done, Hal. But if I can get back my powers - I will be able to heal very quickly..." He shivers, writhing with agony.

  
Hal holds him, trying to keep him from moving.

  
"Then I'll be able to help you defeat the enemy..." Barry continues. "You are fighting them, right ? The Amazons and the Atlanteans... I can help you. We can save a lot of people, right? Hal, please. Let me try again."

  
He hears Thomas' voice as Hal releases him, his fingertips still within Barry's grasp. "Let him try again, kid, if he wants to do it. He's right. There's nothing the hospitals can do for him. Even if he survives, he's handicapped for life."

  
"I know what the fuck you are thinking. You hear your son could be alive and got all bedazzled. I'm telling you, this won't work. I won't let you two go through with this."

  
Barry can't hear sounds anymore. He crunches up, feeling Hal grabbing his hand this time - perhaps he has lost all strength in it to keep holding on to him. The last thing he hears is Hal's cry of rage. And then he is flung into the abyss. He gets his second chance. The icy sleet patters on his body.

  
The second attempt resuscitates him. Fully. Inside and out.

  
When he leaps from the balcony to save Thomas Wayne, he feels as if he is seeing the sun for the first time - uncomfortable yet exhilarating. Panting, Hal runs out from the tattered front doors. Barry turns to look at him, feeling the urge to weep.

  
Hal rubs his hand across his face in vain as the rain pours down in earnest. He slumps into the mud. "You succeeded, Barry. But promise me you'll never do that again."

  
Barry suppresses the urge to make a face. "Never again. Do you have any idea how much it hurts?"

  
Hal bursts out laughing, his wet hair slicking across his face, his lips glistening in the rain.

* * *

The days following feel strange to Barry. Every time he taps into his power he will recall that this is no longer a world with superheroes. Even his constant partner, Green Lantern, no longer has the power to keep up with him. But the presence of Hal Jordan makes him happy, and he would forget that this is not his original life.

  
War has come to a temporary halt. The American government has negotiated a deal with the Amazons, and the two sides stopped fighting. At this delicate time, even a cigarette might reignite conflict, and hence all international flights have been cancelled to minimize that risk. The uneasy illusion of peace is treated as a last chance for hedonism, and yet with the shortage of supplies, the celebrations can only be a drunken, temporary escape.

  
Hal showed Barry many parts of himself during their times together in Coast City; he could cook, never sleeps in, and has an almost obsessive need to keep his bedroom organized. He could operate many kinds of transportation vehicles, but other than fighter jets he has no license for any of them. His explanation that he only needed one focus in his life made Barry laugh.

  
Sometimes they would walk along the streets, Hal as excited as a highschooler. He looks young, yet not immature; when he jumped into fighting with the celebratory crowds for colourful balloons, Barry had to pretend not to know him, though sooner or later he would be dragged into doing stupid things as well.

  
Barry often reminds himself that he shouldn't be involved too deeply - this timeline is wrong; yet this is impossible for any normal person accompanied by Hal.  
Hal is a vibrant presence; he'd fight for balloons and ribbons, and ask the clowns to draw moustaches on his face to show Barry. And when the celebrations end for the day, he buys a large ice-cream pie and, in all seriousness, presses it into Barry's face.

  
Then he kisses him through cream and shaved ice.

  
He must end this, and yet he couldn't.

  
That night they lay on the same bed. Hal keeps throwing at Barry the ice from his beer. Barry taps just slightly into the speed force and catches them all in an instant, pressing them onto Hal's bellybutton.

  
Hal sharply inhales, breaths quickening. He pounces on him, trailing the tip of his tongue along the edges of his ear, leaving wet traces and raising the goosebumps on Barry's arms. In response Barry yanks his head down, feeling the hardness of muscle in his grip. Laughing at his slow motions, Hal pinches Barry at the waist, forcing him to arch his upper body to kiss him.

  
"Do you not go out at all? You are so pale.“ Hal licks Barry's lower stomach. His own tanned skin shines a healthy glow. Barry reaches out a hand and tore off the shirt hanging from one shoulder. Hal stares at his upper body, and snickers as he swallows. "I like you a lot."

  
Barry stifles a laugh. Memories prick at a corner of his mind. He shakes them off, and kisses Hal on the chest. "Me too."

  
"But you don't belong here, Flash," Hal says, pressing down on Barry, who snakes his arms around his waist. They exchange kisses. "You still have to leave."

  
"Yes. Yes, Hal, I must leave." His reply is low.

  
Hal bites him, and then licks a trail from his collarbone to the middle of his chest. He circles a nipple with his tongue. Barry yelps and yanks his head to the side, trying to avoid his touch.

  
Letting out a wheezing laugh, Hal grins the smile of a seasoned lover, his teeth flashing white between his lips. He holds Barry's face with both hands, brown eyes looking down on the blue.

  
"Hey, fine." He says, kissing Barry's nose. "I'll be cooperative. I won't mention your name to anyone else. I will wipe all traces of your having existed - fingerprints, hair - like you have never came here in the first place. You won't erase my memories, will you? Do you have that power?"

  
Barry swallows the slight lump welling in his throat, and bites Hal's incessant lips. "You will forget me, Hal. If I had never came here in the first place, you wouldn't remember me - do you know what I mean? I'll be making changes to your flight path - you will be flying somewhere else from the very beginning - you will never meet me."

  
_Not just that,_ Barry thinks. He didn't explain further. _Once the timeline has been reset to its proper path, you won't exist - you never existed._

  
Hal freezes. Then he hooks an arm around Barry's neck and presses his muscular chest against Barry's arm, coquettishly clinging to him. "Okay..... so... not even this will remain?" He mouths Barry's neck and sucks hard. The area swells, forming a full hickey. He appraises it, appreciative of his own work, and then smiles. Reaching for his belt, he asks: "You won't mind? Me doing this to you?"

  
Barry shakes his head. He props his upper body up, pulling away his shirt from under him.

  
Hal quickly strips them both, bending down to kiss the inside of Barry's thigh. He leaves a trail of saliva, and pinches the delicate skin. Barry yelps, arching up and grabbing Hal's head. Smoothly Hal slides downward, placing erratic kisses along Barry's legs. Then he glances up at him, and swallows the half-hard cock.

  
Soft tissue walls squeeze his member, a flicking tongue gliding over its length. Hal's laugh is muffled, and then changes into a choking cough. Barry could feel himself hardening in full, the heat rising like a trail of fire along his abdomen. He repeats Hal's name, heavy breathing resonating in the room, a broken music disc. Hal bows his back, sucking hard until Barry comes with a stifled gasp. He lets go, liquid trickling down from the corner of his mouth. Barry pants, leaning forward to lick at Hal's lips. He senses a drop of heat trickling down Hal's cheek.

  
Hal chokes down a sob. He pushes Barry down, holding him against the bed, and folds up his knees.

  
"This will hurt, Barry. Are you sure you want me to continue?" He asks, his voice muddled by a nasal quality.

  
Barry nods, aroused. He pinches Hal's waist, feeling the steadiness of muscle sucking his palms like magnets. He wonders why he needed to leave.

  
Hal picks up a bottle of Vaseline from the floor. He starts with Barry's ankles, telling him to relax. Barry obediently buries himself in the comforter, feeling Hal's fingers prodding his sensitive areas. The combination of the warm finger and the cool cream thwarted any sensation of pain. He starts imagining Hal's fingers - the short clipped nails, the rough callouses that bulge like tiny hills. He likes touching them, as if each one were a magic box containing a certain story. Hal adds two more fingers, gently scissoring him open in a manner so different from his personality. Barry snickers. Hal withdraws his fingers and replaces it with himself.

  
This time Barry feels a searing pain. He arches off the bed, whimpering.

  
Hal rubs a comforting hand over him, pressing him back down onto the mattress. Then he starts to move, slowly, rhythmically. He kisses Barry's knees, and then lingers towards his ankles, his tongue darting out to graze his skin occasionally, every time eliciting a moan. Barry feels a wanton pleasure rising from deep within him. Hal speeds up, their heated breathes a curtain around them. Barry feels himself drifting, and before Hal releases, he twists himself upward to wrap his arms around Hal's neck to kiss him.

  
Hal pants heavily, burying his face in the back of Barry's neck. "Stay. Just today. Stay with me. I promise I'll let you go tomorrow. Even if you change your mind tomorrow and begs to squish into the same bed as me, I'm gonna kick you out the door. Okay? "

  
He numbly nods, allowing his body to be manipulated.

  
A voice still lingers in his muddled mind. _You are making a mistake._ He needs to leave, and he has procrastinated long enough.

  
Hal withdraws himself from Barry's body and slumps beside him. He ruffles his hair and asks: "So there is no chance of you staying at all?"

  
Barry flips around and hugs him tight. Then shakes his head. "I shouldn't have... with you... this confuses me, Hal. I'm confused as to what my memories really mean."

  
"You've already proven you are the Flash, Barry." Hal gives a dry laugh. "What else do you need to prove? You are speaking the truth, and I believe you."

  
Barry's lips quiver. He is being unreasonable. He is the one who says he wants to leave - yet what is he saying now? None of it is useful - none of it meaningful. "What if I remembered wrong? What if the world wasn't how I remembered it? Maybe I twisted it around... I will lose you, Hal. And a lot of other people."

  
"You will _"lose"_ me regardless, Barry." Hal attempts a smile but fails. "Think of it like that, and do what you need to do, and believe that is what you _should_ do. You will be happier. This world is doomed. The end is near. The bastards in the military is going to doom us all with the enemy. No matter what you do, Barry, you won't make it worse."

  
"But I might not make it better."

  
"Why are you worrying so much?" Hal kisses his forehead, blinking. "I won't let you leave me, Barry. No way in hell. Would you be happier that I say this instead?"

  
Barry finally smiles, entertained by Hal's antics. "How could you stop a speedster?"

  
Hal raises an eyebrow. "I have my ways," he says, and embraces Barry in an eternal hug.

* * *

The next day, Hal Jordan is summoned back to the Air Force. Barry finally understands what he said. Hal has left him - it is a message. It's not Barry's fault, nor his responsibility. It is Hal who left him.

  
Barry throws himself onto his bed in Central City and stares at the dips in the ceiling. The surroundings recede as he sees a younger self, Nora's pink blouse and pretty heels, the heavy smell of tulips and the mix of blood and a yellow uniform - a reversed lightning symbol.

  
He shots up to a sitting position, seeing the speed force spiral all around him. The altered timeline spins like a Mobius strip; he sees himself running along it to infinity. There is no end to this closeted dimension. He can only break through the flow of time and re-enter reality.

  
He remembers how he arrived here.

  
Bolting out of the house, he instantly accelerates to the necessary speed to crack open the portal. Time shudders, and he is spat out the other side. Nora stares at him, surprised.

  
"Barry? Why are you here?" She helps him up from the floor. "I thought you aren't going to come back."

  
Barry squeezes her tight, panic and regret flooding his senses - he has to let her die.

  
Nora pats his back, guiding him back into the house. He moves as if rooted to the ground, unable to take any more steps. "Mom, I-"

  
"That young man came by," she answers, shaking her head. "You should have told me about you two sooner. What a nice young man..." She breaks off, pressing a hand to her mouth. " _My God_..."

  
Barry follows her gaze onto the television. Mankind's last air strike has begun, and the first casualty is "Highball" Hal Jordan.

  
He backs away, only dimly registering that he has surpassed the original timeline and has glimpsed the future. Squeezing his eyes closed to avoid any other images, he chases down himself.

  
Things brighten, and then dim, a dream just ended. Barry opens his eyes.

  
He's in the midst of battle. Green Lantern and Batman is to his side, arguing. He himself has been glued to the wall, unable to move.

  
"Do you realize that he is trapped? How can I leave Flash like this?"

  
"Hal, go," Barry says, feeling the onset of a splitting headache. "I'll be fine. I'll see you later."

  
Angry, Green Lantern grinds his teeth, but conceded and forms a ball of light around Batman and a Rogue. Soon Barry is left alone in the museum with the culprit in yellow. The reverse lighting symbol on his chest stings Barry's eyes.

  
"So have you discovered the truth?" he laughs.

  
Barry does not wait for him to finish. He spins his arms, generating a tornado of air that knocks his opposite roughly to the ground.

  
"Shut up, Thawne. I don't want to hear your voice right now."

* * *

After the battle Barry drags Hal to the largest nightclub in Central City, Hal talking on his cellphone the entire time; Carol is frantically looking for him. But he takes one look at Barry, and tells her he will be late.

  
"You okay? I've never seen you so out of it." Hal lines up to place two orders of the Blue Moon cocktails. When he places down the glasses, he uses a bit too much force and ice swirl out . Barry stares at the rapidly melting shards, and shakes his head. He huddles against the side of the counter, face pressing against folded arms.

  
"I went to another timeline," he says, omitting certain details. "There is no Justice League. Diana and Arthur are enemies of humans. Batman is Thomas wayne... and you aren't the Green Lantern."

  
Hal whistles, his back leaning against the counter as he stretches his legs. "Really," he says, his expression lacking in interest. "Is that all you are brooding about?"

  
Barry peeks at him from the gaps between his arms. Hal returns the look, eyebrows raised.

  
A pang of sadness strikes him. "May I ask you something?"

  
Hal pats his back, confused. "Of course. I'm skipping my date with Carol, after all. If you don't ask me some interesting questions how am I supposed to make up excuses later."

  
Barry chuckles, accepting the clumsy attempt at comfort. "Will you ever accept suicide missions?"

  
Hal stares, brown eyes almost popping out of their sockets. "Why in the world would I go on a suicide mission?" He takes a sip of the drink and puts the glass back on the counter. "I can't answer this question."

  
Barry thinks of the other Hal. He ponders what effect his words might have had on him; why that young pilot would be so willing to sacrifice his own life. He knew Barry would leave - he knew everything - so he chose death? Barry knows he shouldn't connect himself with everything that happens, but he cannot stop himself. When he shakes the butterfly wings, who knows where a hurricane will form?

  
A slap on the back of his head pulls his thoughts back. Hal nudges him into a sitting position. Barry studies his face - their souls are so similar, yet the alternate time-stream has changed him. _Everything_ has changed.

  
"What is going on? If you need help don't hold back - I am in no hurry to go anywhere." Hal's gaze is full of worry. "Cheer up bro. There is no obstacle in the world that can't be surmounted."

  
Barry rubs his face. "This is my only question, Hal. Nothing is wrong.... really. There's no problem."

  
Hal flashes a smile, sudden understanding dawning. "What, looking at you, did that other me really take on a suicide mission? Wow, that guy's got balls. "

  
"Yes," Barry allows himself a smile. "Yes he does."

  
Hal rubs his chin. He ponders for a moment in silence, and ruffles his hair. "If it were me... probably because it's a military order? If it is something that must be done, it is not impossible for me to volunteer for a suicide mission.”

  
Barry accepts his answer. An answer can't change anything, but it allows survivors to move on, even if some mistakes cannot be re-mediated.

  
He stares at Hal's profile. The lines of Hal's handsome face sharpen, while another face blurs and fades. Barry senses that hand again - the hand that protects the current timeline, the one that wipes all memories not belonging to this moment.

  
Soon they will be all gone - no one but him knows better regarding this truth.

  
In the infinity that is the space-time continuum, the narrator himself is a mere pile of dust.

  
And memories are but illusions.

* * *

END

 


End file.
